


Therapy (I don't want to be better)

by SaintAubergine



Series: MCYT But Its SCP [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: And this is his POV, Angst with steps toward a happy ending, Gen, Ghostbur is his own character and is mentioned, I play fast and loose with cannon cause this is my AU and you can't stop me, Recovery is a Process™ and it would be unfair of me to have Wilbur 'fixed' in one short chapter, The female OC is his therapist and she isn't named, Wilbur Soot goes to Foundation-mandated therapy, Wilbur is uh... semi-alive in this, With varying levels of success, because Wilbur didn't bother to remember her name, he's working on it, look - Freeform, okay?, or rather being forced to work on it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:48:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28545093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintAubergine/pseuds/SaintAubergine
Summary: Wilbur Soot goes and gets some fucking therapy, with varying degrees of success. Hey, you win some, you lose a lot. Thats just how it goes.Set in the MCYT but its SCP 'verse. It is recommended, but not required, that you read the first instalment of this series before you read this, just to put a few minor details into context. (you'll be really confused it you don't, though) (:
Series: MCYT But Its SCP [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085219
Comments: 1
Kudos: 39





	Therapy (I don't want to be better)

Wilbur sits across from the lady that they’ve assigned as his ‘therapist’ and glares. Doctor-patient confidentiality can bite him, he knows very well that anything he says can and will be used against him. Or even worse, against his friends (are they his friends? Do they even give a shit about Wilbur anymore, or is everyone hanging around because they like his dead self better? How tragic it is, to be usurped by an amnesiac version of yourself). 

He has a whole hour left before they let him go back to the place that everyone very pointedly does not call a cell. A whole hour of keeping this lady out of his fucking head (He’s already got Ghost in there, even if it's more like  _ he’s  _ in  _ Ghost’s  _ head, thanks to the one way amnesia barrier. Still. Two might be company, but it honestly feels more like a crowd. There's no more room for anyone else). The seconds cannot move fast enough, and every movement of the second hand of the clock in here seems to take days. At least she’s nice enough to recognize that he doesn’t want to talk, and has stopped trying to pry.

They do this twice a week. He gets escorted in, says hello, sits down for an hour and a half in silence, says goodbye, and then gets escorted out. Wilbur is fairly certain that the most he’s ever said to her in one go was when he met her, and that was six words. A greeting, his name, and then a staunch refusal to speak.

She asks him if he has any hobbies. It’s an innocuous question, designed to fill the empty space between them, and Wilbur appreciates it. He likes this woman enough to stop glaring, so he does, plastering a completely neutral expression on his face.    
  
He nods. If he gives her this, maybe he can stop going to therapy. Maybe they’ll just leave him alone. That idea is both the greatest comfort Wilbur has ever felt, and the greatest source of anxiety. He’d like to be left alone, to stop playing these games of poking and prodding where no matter what he does, he’s always the loser, but the fear of being abandoned sings somewhere deep inside his core. He  _ cannot  _ bear to be abandoned. To be discarded. To be  _ fucking replaced.  _ He can’t.   
  
“I used to play guitar,” he says, leaving out the exact time frame. His hands haven’t touched a guitar in months, not since he was forced to leave his battered acoustic behind in Schlatt’s Manberg when he and Tommy fled. He’d always meant to play it, just one more time, but he never got the chance. A part of him hopes that it's still there, but it's far more likely that it was destroyed when L’Manberg was. He’d had the guitar for ages, a present from Phil for the first of his birthdays that the two of them had spent together, and it had been with him through thick and thin. That guitar was one of the few solid pieces of his history. That’d be poetic, Wilbur thinks, all of his past scrubbed clean by fire and explosives in one go. All by his hands.

She nods, and writes something down on her pad of paper. He supposes that getting him to talk must be considered an accomplishment for her. Even if he didn’t give her anything useful. He almost wishes that she’d ask him more about his music. He’d be glad to share that much with her, considering that the person who wrote those songs is dead. Literally and figuratively. He’s glad that she doesn’t. 

They sit in silence until the guards show up again, to escort him away. He says goodbye, and holds out his arms, neither resising nor cooperating. If they want him to go anywhere, they’ll have to drag him, but he’s not trying to escape. 

A few days later, he arrives at therapy again. His therapist greets him with an acoustic guitar in a soft carrying case. She assures him that there is no catch to this gift, no strings attached except the ones on the pegs. He smiles at the joke, and at the guitar.

He plays for the entirety of the session. It's better than silence, and he still doesn’t have to say a word. He doesn’t sing, just stums and plucks until his fingertips feel like they’re going to burst open with the bruising. Wilbur supposes that this might be taken as a thank you for the guitar. He doesn’t exactly mean it like that, but if she wants to interpret it that way, well. He isn’t going to stop her. 

For the first time in months, he feels something like happiness. Not quite there yet, but it's a step in the right direction. 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so to explain the whole Schrödinger's Wilbur thing, uhhhhhhhhhh.  
> Wilbur and Ghostbur basically have what I refer to as 'DID but with a side of magic':  
> Wilbur remembers everything that he does, as well as everything Ghostbur (who prefers to be referred to as Ghost) does, but Ghost only remembers memories that Wilbur formed when he was happy, as well as any experiences that he (as Ghost) has had. Ghost also gets some memory fragments from Wilbur, but not a lot, and never enough to from a complete memory out of. Ghost also remembers every time Wilbur has died. Vividly.  
> Okay, mini rant done. Thank you for reading this absolutely riveting bit of MCYT but it's SCP lore that I think is very important to clear up. 
> 
> I might come back to this later, and make a whole longfic about Wilbur slowly healing. I might not. You'll never know.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments give me that happy brain chemicals. Please leave them so that when I die, my ghost will remember that this account exists. kthxbai.


End file.
